


slow life

by pyrrhlc



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Afterlife, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Other, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 16:55:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12511968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyrrhlc/pseuds/pyrrhlc
Summary: It’s pretty quiet, here in the astral plane.Magnus hadn’t expected guests.





	slow life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [talefeathers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/talefeathers/gifts).



The knock at the door appeared to reverberate all throughout the house; Magnus could’ve sworn that the walls shook slightly as he turned, not quite real, not quite corporeal—but only for a moment. Everything was solid here—even him. For a time, at least. He wasn’t yet used to how the Astral Plane worked—how time passed, how the outside world aged. It wasn’t a prison—no, it had never been that, Magnus had lived more than his fair share of life, always and forever—but he knew it was separate, at the very least. Magnus was divided—

—but, it would seem, not completely apart.

“Jules?” he asked, voice floating like dust motes through the eaves. Magnus had chosen the basement as his workshop for a reason; it was quiet here, and peaceful, like all of it, but it was also his own. It represented, he thought, not a little sadly, all of the three kinds of lives he had lived; the life of before, the interim, and the life that come after. Not that the interim wasn’t wonderful, of course, just…

Short. Terribly, terribly short. But none of that mattered now, Magnus reassured himself. Julia was with him, in death, and even then death wasn’t really an _end_. Just… different. A fourth kind of life. His un-life. The life he had always wanted, but shifted, changed, to one final perspective. Magnus was here to _live._ And he would live peacefully, unto the end.

“Jules?” he called again. He wasn’t exactly expecting to be heard; the basement was sunk low enough that no-one would ever hear the caller—Julia herself had discovered this, whilst shouting herself hoarse about the spider in the direct centre of the room. Spiders weren’t even meant to _be_ in the Astral Plane. Magnus hadn’t a clue how it had got there—or how it gotten to be so big. Strange things happened on the island where time stood still. Magnus had gotten used to the over-sized wildlife, if nothing else.

He laid down his tools, moving swiftly up the stairway, broad hands clutching at the banister Julia herself had carved. Magnus had so much to catch up on, so much to learn, both about Julia and her woodworking—

“Magnus!” Julia turned her head towards him, a coy smile flitting across her lips. Her body was blocking the entrance to the doorway, and yet—

“We have a visitor,” Julia said, by way of clarification, her smile broadening as she registered his surprise. Magnus hadn’t even _expected_ guests. He’d supposed from the knocking that it must be Kravitz, not—

“Am I—am I interrupting?” said the voice, stepping in suddenly through the doorway. “I can come back at a later time—”

Magnus’s smile was as wide as Julia’s. “Lucretia,” he said, “You, you—”

Lucretia bowed her head, leaning against her staff—not her Bulwark staff, not anymore, but one Magnus himself had carved for her; one long, endless spiral, the same three lines carved deep into the surface, destined to repeat, over and over. Not quite a unicorn’s horn, but a close enough approximation. Magnus had journeyed days to find the exact tree he needed—a hundred-year-old Birch, its fragile centre gouged by the Hunger and left indefinitely for dead. But the tree had survived, and continued to grow. Magnus had felt obliged to ask it, when first arrived there, before taking a branch. He still thought about that tree even now.

“You came to visit,” Magnus managed at last, and Lucretia smiled her quiet smile, a peaceful constant even after everything. The memory of which had always been there, even when—

“It’s not strictly against the rules,” Lucretia said, eyes darting sideways as she smiled, drifting to look over at Julia—had she known about this?

She must have. Magnus allowed them their moment of knowing before guiding Lucretia into the sitting room—a cosy affair, its desks and tables scattered with any number of books and papers. Julia continued on with her old habits even now. It was partly a hobby, and partly a job, there being nothing to map but the Astral Plane—Kravitz had stopped by to borrow and copy Julia’s work on more than one occasion. His excuse—well, Magnus couldn’t really remember it. Something to do with educating Lup and Barry, in the beginning—by the end of it? Age, possibly. Not that Krazitz aged. Maybe it was just an excuse, to stop by and admire the creations she had wrought.

Fair enough, Magnus thought. Julia’s maps, both now and then, continued to be the best; there was nobody as accurate as Julia, when it came to terrain. Even non-corporeal terrain. She was that sort of woman. Creative and determined, no matter the task. Magnus had never known Julia to back down from a challenge.

Magnus had carved some of the furniture, here, adding finer detail to the works provided by Julia—a carving of a jellyfish here, a band of travellers there. The talent for finer detail had come much later in life—after mastering the macro, Magnus had been intent on perfecting the micro—gently scrolled arms and curving backs, tucking and shirring, painting and repainting—up until the point that his arms had begun shaking so badly that he’d had to retire from that, retire from everything, turning his focus purely on training the dogs—

Death was still so recent, somehow. It was clear that time had not passed the same way for Lucretia.  
She looked older than when he’d last seen her—gently straddling the very edge of death, hanging on just barely, just long enough to say goodbye—her hands were mottled now, marked at steady intervals by liver spots, her hair wispy at the crown, the colour of it like that of ashes, as insubstantial as smoke. Lucretia’s body was paper-thin, now, but Magnus thought her spirit was just the same, except perhaps just a little more tired than it had been, all those years ago. As for Magnus—he realised this with a jolt—well, Magnus didn’t look so old, residing in the Astral Plane. It was a strange way to be, the younger-looking being most decidedly dead, and Lucretia being, Lucretia being—

Kravitz—Lup and Barry never seemed to abide by the rules anyway—had not stopped her from coming here, although he undoubtedly would’ve known. It could only mean one thing—one thing Magnus absolutely _wasn’t_ going to think about, not now, or ever, as if by avoiding death he would not touch it—

All very strange thoughts for a dead man to have. But Magnus thought them, nonetheless. He hadn’t realised how much it would still matter to him, to know that time was passing so much faster in the Material Plane, the years spinning on without him—

The night was very dark, here in the Astral Plane. Magnus missed the stars.

Lucretia seemed able to read his thoughts, her eyes watching him thoughtfully as she moved to sit upon the sofa—her staff was more of a support than it had been, during the year of rebuilding. Magnus nipped that thought in the bud as soon as it had arisen.

“I’ve been going over my journals,” Lucretia said eventually, when Magnus did not sit. Julia had remained in the kitchen—or had she gone back down to the basement? Something about her expression, lingering still in the doorway—something of it told Magnus that this may well be the last of something, even if he wasn’t willing to complete the thought that housed such a scenario, or even contemplate it. Julia had so rarely looked at him with pity—

He was unused to this. He raised his eyes to look at Lucretia before sitting down on the sofa. If this was a last time—nothing, surely, could ever be a last time, not after everything they’d been through—then he would make sure to treasure it, to admire every syllable, every word that his friend had to offer. It was the least he could do, surely.

“Really?” Magnus asked. His voice sounded strange. He ignored it. “Old or new?”

Lucretia ducked her head, but only slightly. “New-ish,” she said. There was a brief pause. “It’s been… a few years since you left us. I’m not sure how time works in the Astral Plane. Lup is always complaining about it.”

Magnus frowned. How long _had_ it been? Several months, perhaps. A year at most. Certainly not long enough to feel _left_. Not yet.

“I…” he began, and then stopped. “I’m not sure. A year at the most, maybe. Time is slow here. Or non-existent.”

Lucretia smiled into her lap. “That’s fair enough,” she said, “It’s awfully peaceful here.” She coughed, looking up at him as if to say _both of us know what was coming; there is no point discussing it._

And yet, also, the look seemed to say:

_You haven’t left. You aren’t forgotten. I would never allow that._

“So,” Magnus said, trying again. “The new-ish journals.”

“Yes,” Lucretia agreed, after a moment’s hesitation. “I was surprised to find how much I’d let slip my mind – the year of rebuilding, for instance. It was so long ago, and yet—”

Magnus reached out to clasp hold of Lucretia’s hand, admitting to, but not at ease with, the fragility of the bones within her wrist. So much could unravel them, Magnus thought, but their souls were whole. No matter where they went afterwards.

At the end of all things.

“Dying’s fine, you know,” he said, voice rougher now, his throat straining against the weight of the tidal wave in his chest. “Just like – just like falling asleep. Nothing to worry about at all.”

Smiling still, Lucretia squeezed at his hand. “I know,” she said, leaning her head on his shoulder, “I’ll be quite all right.” Another, longer pause. “We _did_ do a hundred years of dying. I didn’t – I wasn’t gone as often as you were, but. Still.”

Magnus nodded. The walls around him shifted again as he blinked, the weight of all those years suddenly overtaking him, stretching ahead of him, ahead of them both. The first of those deaths _should_ feel like a pinprick, now—but it doesn’t. It never has.

“Can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

“I was still afraid,” Magnus said, his voice sombre, “when it came to the – to the _actual_ end. I didn’t think—I thought that maybe something would go wrong, that I’d start right back where I always did, onboard the Starblaster, the same black eye, the same body, the same bruises. But I didn’t. I’m not sure why I was afraid of that. I just – I really like the world we made home. I was always so glad we saved it.”

Lucretia was silent for a moment. Magnus waited as she thought—and wondered suddenly when it was that Lucretia had finally stopped recording their mission. Five years after? Ten years? Magnus knew she’d come and watch them, when the opportunity presented itself—had she wrote about their lives, with new ink, new books, and kept them safe, hidden, never to be read? If so, Lucretia had never told him. But perhaps she didn’t need to.

“I’m glad we saved it, too,” Lucretia said at last. The hand that held onto her staff quivered slightly, as if waiting for something else. “Thank you for telling me, Magnus. It means a lot.” She stood up slowly, stiffly, that same smile still affixed to her face. It did not waver, even when she turned and looked out the window, examining the grey tendrils of smoke beyond.

“Goodnight, Magnus. I imagine I will see you again, sometime soon.”

Magnus nodded. “Goodnight Lucretia,” he said, standing alongside her, like muscle memory repeated. “Sleep well.”

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Birthday [@talefeathers](http://archiveofourown.org/users/talefeathers/)! I said I’d try and write something happy—I think I failed—but I promise, the intention was totally there! I hope you’re having a super duper awesome birthday so far—you deserve the very best!
> 
> Title is inspired by an Of Monsters and Men song, even though the song itself isn’t particularly applicable to Lucretia and Magnus’s relationship. Oh well!


End file.
